


untitled document

by AngleVet99



Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Dysfunctional Family, Fire, Horror, Other, Pain, Revenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:35:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23481787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngleVet99/pseuds/AngleVet99
Summary: Fazbear Fright is burning.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 41





	untitled document

**untitled document**

It was all up in flames; the parts, the pieces, the room, the building...the company. All of it. Just like she had predicted. Just like she had promised. It was all burning, burning away, burning to ashes that would be swept along the winds of memory, to eventually still and be forgotten. That was the ultimate end to this, to the Fazbear legacy- this very place stood as an affront to that, and that's why it had to burn.

It wasn't a thing to be _celebrated_. It wasn't a thing to be _parodied._ If people wouldn't remember it through any other way than to glorify and profit from it, then the only means left was to lay it all to rest was to forget _all of it._ It maybe wasn't the best solution- those kids didn't deserve to be forgotten, but...it was better than _**this**_. This mockery, all falling apart around him as it deserved...Michael wasn't entirely happy with it, but he _was_ at peace with it. He'd done his part. He'd played his role...all that was left was to leave and try to vindicate the memories of those who had suffered in his _own_ way, however possible. He wasn't sure how he was supposed to really accomplish this, but he supposed he would figure it out along the way.  
  
He couldn't really just...live a normal life after all this.

The heat was practically unbearable...he could feel the sweat sliding down and off his skin, only to evaporate in no time at all. The fire wasn't an inescapable blaze just yet, but he'd stood around watching it happen for long enough. It was time to go. And besides...he wasn't even certain that **he** was dead yet, he could be trying to find his own way out as well....Michael needed to find that door, fast, and he needed to _lock it._ He couldn't be allowed to escape. The whole reason this was even happening, setting the spirits of the children free aside, was so that... **thing**...could never roam free and hurt anyone else ever again...

His father...

Just thinking about it made him feel sick, so he tried not to, and shielded his face with his arm as he began to stumble his way down the burning horror attraction's various hallways. How inconvenient that the faulty wiring control panels had been located so very far back, but he supposed he had to make it all look convincing...the consequence was that he had to trace Springtrap's own steps towards the office now and towards the exit located therein so he could _get out_. Using the vents was out of the question, the smoke would choke him before the flames could cook him- the long way round it was.

He tried not to waste any more time than he had already, but it was admittedly hard not to occasionally watch the flames reach various bits of animatronic relics; the Foxy head mounted on the wall, the Bonnie stand, the lights in their eyes flickering out while the fires mottled and destroyed the fabrics keeping it all together. The various posters curled and blackened, none of the arcade cabinets were functioning anymore- it really was the end, and Michael would be lying if he didn't admit that he was feeling a cathartic sense of enjoyment at watching it all turn to nothing around him.

Though his ability to 'watch' anything was rapidly starting to diminish as the fires got ever stronger, and his eyes started to sting; he was starting to cough. He kept his arm to his face but moved it to his mouth, nearly biting into it but refraining himself from doing so; had to get out, had to get out....

He'd reached the hallway with the glass panel looking directly into what had been his office. The fires were _really_ strong now, they'd even reached the office ahead of him somehow- though then again, was it really a surprise with how the wiring had been in there too? He could barely see through the curtains of flame in there, though...something...

He almost refrained himself from looking through to see what was going on in there, he was _certain_ he'd seen something moving- given where he was, something moving was the last thing he wanted, so he had to be sure that he was _wrong._ And so, prompted both by his anxiety and innate curiosity, Michael leaned in closer...

And practically _fell_ back against the opposite wall when a disfigured hand pounded against the glass, cracking it a little; Michael tried to scramble back up, but what he saw next gave him a good deal of pause.

The hand was flat and palmed against the window, its owner looking at Mike with eyes that were wide and flickering, seeming to vibrate in their gaunt sockets but not looking away from him for a second. Only now did the man realise that the figure pushing against the glass seemed to have no real intent to come round and _get_ him, it just wanted to...watch...him? Michael wasn't sure, but there was no denying that this was Springtrap. Even despite the further decaying of his already ruined body and the large amounts of char blotting out the ugly greens of his suit, his shortened ear having fallen off _entirely_ along with his other arm..despite his looking even more unrecogniseable than before....

Michael knew that before him was his father. And he was on fire, licking tongues of flame obscuring the dying animatronic but not enough to totally hide him. The man's focus kept drifting to the _eyes_ , those flickering silvery-green _**eyes**_ and how they stared at him with a near-rabid madness. Springtrap had finally lost his composure. Of course he had, this wasn't a game anymore- he'd successfully reached the office only to find it empty, and then everything had been on fire, and now he was **dying**. So soon after freedom as well, on the cusp of getting out again, and it had been rather dramatically cut quite short.

Michael wasn't even certain if those eyes really saw him, really recognised him for who he was. He didn't even know if William was even _in_ there anymore or just replaced by some feral thing that embodied his deepest, darkest urges, urges that forced something that shouldn't have even been able to _get up_ to move and enact a twisted game with him, the ending goal obviously being his, Michael's, death. Clearly it hadn't expected to have been thwarted like this.

The hand pounded against the glass again, before the fingers curled against the surface and the jaw of the animatronic opened a little; Michael was paralysed, no, _mesmerised_ at the sight of it- he didn't know why, he didn't know if he _couldn't_ move or if he didn't _**want**_ to move. All he knew was that his legs were like jelly, and that he seemed utterly fascinated at the sight of this monster burning to death before his eyes, the way it tilted its head at him and then...seemed to...speak....  
  
 _"Michael...."_

It was only one word, but Michael had _heard it_ and its utterance by a voice so worn and weary that he was amazed it could have formulated any kind of vocabulary at _all_ threw him off rather severely. Suddenly he found the strength to stand again, and stand he did, rapidly, breathing rapidy even as every breath burned and stung due to the intense heat in the air. He took one step, two steps, three steps closer to the glass until he was practically eye-level with Springtrap, looking into the beast's eyes with uncertainty in his own. Was...he really in there....?  
  
The eyes that stared back at him seemed to give no answer, still vibrant and shaking as they were, but in the end the uncertainty in _Michael's_ eyes gave out and were replaced with a grim kind of resolve. Of course he was in there. How on Earth would this creature have otherwise known his name...? It didn't matter, really. All that _did_ matter was that even if this thing knew his name...it was _not_ his father.  
  
William had stopped being his father a long time ago. Now really was a poor time to try and change that. Perhaps it had been out of some need for his son to save him, or to evoke some kind of pity or even _sympathy_ , god forbid, but Michael wasn't going to have any of it- he could mourn for the man William had been another time. For now he was going to watch the monster he had become burn. He was going to see this through. _To the end._

Springtrap seemed to realise this, and rather than get more desperate or angry, the dilapidated animatronic seemed to just accept its fate and slowly start sinking down against the window, still not looking away from Michael as its jaw hung open again, seeming to _sigh_ as the flames consuming it got brighter. Michael just watched, expression unreadable, stinging tears beginning to roll down his face. It was from the fire. It wasn't because he was watching his father die...it was because the air was getting hotter and forcing himself to watch this was straining the tears out. It had _nothing_ to do with the oddly serene look in those flickering eyes that previously had been overtaken by madness.  
  
Once Springtrap had sunk far below Michael's level, it was Michael's turn to hammer a fist against the glass, but only once, his breathing rapid. It wasn't the strongest pound in the world. He was old, after all, but...

The air was thick and he felt like he was choking, but he wasn't sure if it was because of the ashes or because of feelings that were running rapidly out of his control. How on Earth could he even begin to keep a straight face in front of something as utterly upsetting and distressing as this? What was he supposed to do? How was he _supposed_ to feel, was this wrong...?  
  
"I hope you burn forever..." he managed to gutter out of his searing throat, not tearing his eyes away from the other's for a second; "I hope you burn forever for what you've done...to those children...to _me_...to everyone...never again, you son of a bitch, you hear me...?!"  
  
Springtrap just cocked his head at his son, and for a moment it seemed to Michael that the thing must have been _smiling._ But before he could respond to even that, the flames got _brighter_ , and soon Springtrap could no longer be seen. No movement could be detected either. He was gone. William Afton was dead.  
  
For _real_ this time,  
  
Michael didn't even have time to congratulate or scold himself. Yeah, like yelling at him would really have helped him feel better, real good display of self-confidence there, Mikey. Maybe just shut your mouth next time you see a relative responsible for the wholesale slaughter of children burning to death right in front of you. Letting his fist drop from the window and to his side, Michael took in a deep breath- it seared his lungs- and turned, and began his rapid walk towards the exit just around the corner leading to the office.

It would all be over soon. Charlie was in here too, he was pretty sure, burning with the rest of it- he sincerely hoped this was what she wanted, she _had_ seemed pretty clear on all of what was going to happen here....  
  
And yet, though Charlie's plan had indeed come into fruition with her vision, there was one outlier that neither she nor Michael could have ever begun to fathom would rear its unexpected head this faithful night. As Michael finally spotted the exit just waiting to be opened a few short paces from him, his vision getting blurrier and mind becoming more and more numb, he abandoned all forms of self-restraint and _staggered_ towards it, not caring that his balance was off and that he could easily fall over and hurt himself if he wasn't careful- he was **close** , he just needed...he just needed to _get out_ , get _**out**_ , that was all that was left--  
  
And yet fate would not be so kind.  
  
Something-a hand, a claw, he wasn't sure- caught onto the back of his shirt, and roughly reeled him back into the burning haze the moment his hand had fell onto the pushbar and started, well, pushing, in order to open the emergency exit door. It reeled him in, and spun him around, and suddenly he couldn't move. Something was holding onto him, and holding him _tight_. It wouldn't let go. He struggled and writhed and squirmed for dear life but the grip was like _iron_ , and by the time he saw what was doing this to him, all the strength and determination left in him had simply drained away...

...to be replaced with sheer horror and _**fear.**_ Michael had experienced many things over the years since he'd started following his father's trail through the various Fazbear establishments, and sure he'd come to a few close scrapes- sure he'd been pretty scared a good few times. But the fear he was experiencing now was fear on a level he had only experienced a few times before, under very special circumstances...

And those circumstances were whenever Fredbear showed up.

Springtrap had been scary. The thought of his father forcing Michael to join him in death (and not the _unnatural_ kind of **un** death, either) had been scary. But to this day, nothing in the world scared Michael more than the very sight of the monster that had killed his brother. No....not killed his brother.  
  
The instrument Michael himself had _used_ to kill his brother. Unknowingly or not, unintentionally or not, it was because of _him_ that Kale had died. It was because if _him_ that William had started **really** going off the deep end. It was because of him that all this had happened, and Fredbear never, ever hesitated to remind him of that fact.

It's me.  
  
It's **me.**  
  
The same words had always been present with some connection to Fredbear, and whenever the golden animatronic had showed up Michael had been able to fend it off with his heart remaining intact, no matter how fast it threatened to beat out of his chest- but not this time. Fredbear had him in his grasp, and there was no escaping it. This wasn't some hallucination or anomaly or bad dream, this was the real thing. This was the _real deal_.  
  
And judging by its decayed look, missing teeth and generally burnt appearence, Michael couldn't help but feel amazed that this thing was even still standing. Then again, Springtrap had held together all too well...its old friend being able to survive this fire for a while shouldn't have been too surprising. Fredbear, too, was wreathed in flames, and Michael could feel their sting _too_ now as they latched onto his clothes and began to set him alight. He grimaced, and he hissed, and he began to scream as he felt them beginning to eat into his flesh- but he somehow silenced when he heard the bear speak.

His voice was...not what Michael expected. It was distorted, mangled, certainly corrupted beyond repair- but beyond all of that...

It was the voice of a little _boy._ There was no mistaking it, even buried beneath all the layers of static and corruption as it was, that was a boy's voice, and not just any boy's voice, but-

" **You took them away from me,** " Fredbear intoned in a dull, colourless monotone, even the child inside the voice sounding dead and lifeless. The voice nontheless set the hairs up Michael's spine a-tingling, because he sounded just like-

" **I didn't want them to go, I tried to get them to stay, but you set them free...they were my only friends, and now they're gone. Now, I'm all alone...I don't have anybody else. But I won't be alone forever. Not for long.** "  
  
Fredbear didn't possess the ability to smile, even less so now that he was without teeth, but Michael could tell. He could _tell_ the bear was smiling, somehow, and it was _not_ a pleasant one. Not the kind of smile you'd want or expect from the mascot of fantasy and fun. Not the kind of smile you'd want or expect from _anyone_. The fear, the paralysing _fear_ , it prevented him from even _**thinking**_ straight, let alone from speaking- all he could think about was that this wasn't just some murderous mascot, somehow having survived the fire and destruction, come to kill him.

This was Kale, come to drag his brother into _hell._

**"Soon, we'll be together in a place we can never escape from. For you, it'll be torture....but for me...it'll be paradise. You'll burn with me forever, Michael. The pain only starts here."**

Michael struggled, but it was in vain; the bear's grip was unbreakable, and its choosing to **slam** him against the wall further silenced his struggles, though not his voice, which finally let out a loud, agonizing screech of a yell as he felt bones break and crack and snap, blood lapping into his mouth near-instantly. The pain was without description; combined with the searing flames licking up and down his body and turning his skin to crumbling paper, Michael was in a world of agony he had never experienced, and if the bear's words were true, then this was only the _start_.

He didn't even need to ask himself why this was happening, because the answer was all too easy; Michael had never wanted to acknowledge it in the past, having always dismissed Fredbear's presence as some trick or hallucination, or _something_ , but he had always known deep down that it was his brother. His brother, bitter, angry and vengeful, time and again had tried to have him killed and had finally taken matters into his own hands. He wanted him to pay. He wanted Michael to _suffer_.  
  
And Michael deserved it. He deserved every ounce of the agony he was currently experiencing and the unholy torment that was opening up to welcome him in the hellishly flaming eyes of the animatronic before him. His squirming ceasing seemed to coincide with his own mental resignation, his breathing ragged as he just went limp against the wall in Fredbear's grip. He knew he'd deserved it from the day he'd seen this same golden bear crunch into the head of his brother; the day he'd apologised and received no answer before the monitors had flatlined was the day he knew his fate was sealed.

Charlie had said he was good. That Kale would forgive him, that everything would be forgiven once he had stopped his father from hurting any more people. But his father hadn't hurt Kale. _Michael_ had done that. Even if he had all been for stopping William, salvation was never a thing he'd believed in- it wasn't for him. Not for someone like him, a bully who'd picked on and eventually killed his own little brother just because he felt afraid of his father....

Springtrap was gone, and so were all the kids he'd killed, but Kale was still here, which meant that the only thing keeping him on this Earth was a violent, desperate need to get back at Michael for what he had done. And Michael surrendered to it. The fear, though still present, was dulled compared to the sheer and utter guilt and shame that shone with the tears in his eyes as his vision started to get even more blurry, his breathing weak. His mind started to feel kind of numb, and all the flames started to blend into a kind of vivid mess of oranges and reds. He was dying.

And yet, still, some strength remained; he had enough to do one more thing. His brother hadn't been able to hear him back then, all those years ago, but now....maybe...

The fifty-something-year-old-man reached out with a shaking hand, tears continuing to stream down his eyes even as they evaporated partway down his cheeks; Fredbear didn't move or even seem to acknowledge the hand in its movements, even as it rested on the side of the bear's face. It was a gentle touch. Not just because the old man was weak from all the stress being placed on his body, but because he _wanted_ to put across to the tortured animatronic that he wasn't trying to fight him.

"Kale....I...I-I'm...s-sorry....I'm...sorry...."  
  
Fredbear didn't respond or move after this; Michael's hand dropped and he wheezed as breathing got more and more difficult, it felt like ash was choking his very _lungs_. Breathing, seeing, thinking, _living_ , was getting excessively harder for him to do and he felt like the end was getting ever closer-

And then Fredbear dropped him. He didn't even have the capacity to groan or cry out when he hit the floor harshly, everything felt _that_ numb; his vision may as well have been an incoherent swirl of visual sensation, but he could still just about make out the vague golden colouring of Fredbear as it leaned in close to him, that gold marred by a rotten black as the flames started to complete their consumption of the animatronic. Michael didn't know what was going on. Had he been dropped because Fredbear simply hadn't been able to hold onto him anymore, or was it something else...?  
  
Everything was getting less...clear...couldn't....process...anymore...  
  
 **"...I guess I'll be staying here then. Goodbye, Michael."**

The boy's voice was bitter.

And then all the pain was gone.

And Michael felt a lifting sensation.


End file.
